Dashboard Drarry
by Sari Sunshine
Summary: A story written while listening to too much Dashboard Confessional.


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I thought that what we had was something that could never end an epic romance of sorts, the kind that would go down in history. After all we went through to be together how could it be anything else? In reality, it took very little time for it to come crashing down around me. I have tried to let him go. I really have. He made his choice, and it wasn't me. It wasn't me. So I take home faceless lovers, that never stay the night, and we avoid each other in such a way that our side stepping has become a brilliant dance. We can go on this way for months, pretending the other doesn't exist, and then our paths collide. When his eyes meet mine, across crowded rooms my resolve is whisked away, as my heart remembers what my head tries so hard to forget. For the smallest moment I think maybe, maybe we'll get it right this time, this time he'll leave her and not me. So we fuck in dirty bathrooms, and cupboards, because I know he feels the same, the same need to be together. In the end he does leave me though, he goes back home to her, and I'm left with nothing but, a whispered" I'm sorry" and the taste of his flesh on my lips.

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I can't remember the last time we spoke. I can't even meet his eyes without, my heart yearning for him. If I spoke to him for too long, I think that I would fall apart. I know, it's my fault, it's all my fault. When his sad green eyes meet mine across a crowded room, all I want to do is hold him. I want to tell him it will all be all right. Tell him that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt him. I'm sorry I left. I should have never left. Instead, I fuck him in dirty bathrooms, cupboards anyplace we can get away to. In the end I leave him, again. Leave him with a weak apology that doesn't cover any of those things. He use to beg me not to go, then watch my back as I retreated. Now, he just pulls his knees to his chest, as if trying to stop his heart from breaking. I know that what we could have, an epic romance of sorts, but I can't. All we have now is this ruined puzzle. So I go home, to my wife, and fall asleep wishing it was him next to me.

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I had too much to drink last night. I find myself drunk more often than not these days. The papers seem to think I have a problem. I find my drinking is just, fine thank you very much it's my heart that has a problem. My heart that feels like an open wound in my chest. I knew he would be there last night, another social function, for the high and mighty, asking me to make an appearance. As a Malfoy he would need to be there, social standing and all that bullshit. I could have not gone, but this dance is getting old and I wanted to see him. I wanted to touch him, despite the pain it causes. I was pissed before he even made his fashionably late arrival. I know I hit someone, a reporter maybe. I know he brought me home, and I raged at him. I'm a trophy display of bruises today and I don't know which come from fighting, and which come from sex. His hair is everywhere white blond against my black sheets. I know I fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and his make believe promises that it will be all right, as I sobbed into him. I woke alone, as I always do, but the bed still smells like him, and I can lay here and pretend for just a little while.

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He was drunk last night. More than I've seen in a long time. I know he drinks too much now, and it worries me, but I suppose it's not my place to say. Very often, I wake up to news headlines telling me about something he's gotten into, and the speculation to his drinking problem. I burn the paper these days. I didn't know if he would show to the party, social standing bullshit has never meant to him, what it does to me. I hoped he would be, I wanted to see him, touch him. It's selfish I know to keep going to him, then leaving, but I'm a selfish man. My wife is away on business in France, meaning she's sleeping with some Frenchmen for the week, so I knew I could be with him, if only for a moment. He was wasted before I even arrived, and in an hour's time, I was pulling him off a reporter who was asking stupid questions. I drug him outside, and apparated him to the alley behind his building, a place I often find myself going before I remember it is not my home anymore. He struggled all the way to his flat. "Get off me Malfoy." "Fuck you Malfoy." "I hate you Malfoy." I pushed him through his front door, and then slammed it shut behind me. "Don't call me that!" I scream . "What should I call you then? he crys "Cowered? Pussy? Selfish Prick?" He spits at me and I slap him. Everything gets messy then, we're fighting and kissing and fucking all at once. Until we collapse exhausted, twisted among his sheets. "Draco." I say into his hair. He's crying then, sobbing in a way I have rarely seen. Words escape between tears and gasping breaths "Why…Can't...Too much…Draco" All I can do is lie there telling him it will be all right. I don't believe it will be, I don't believe that either of us are getting any better. Just before dawn I snuck away with a stolen kiss on his famous scar and an "I love you" that he wouldn't hear.

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I miss him terribly today.

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It's my turn to get drunk. Today is not a pleasant day for me. Today would have been our five year anniversary. Five years ago I told him I felt there was something more to the friendship we'd formed after the war. Five years ago his boyfriend beat the shit out of him. Five years ago I kissed his bruised lips and promised no one would hurt him again, Two years ago, I told him I had to marry Astoria, or be disowned by my family. Two years ago I told him we could still be together, we just couldn't live together. Two years ago I hurt him more than any physical beating ever could. Two years ago I left him. Eighteen months ago I saw him across a crowded room. Eighteen months ago I followed him into a bathroom. Eighteen months ago I made it worse.

I go to his flat, letting myself in, as he hasn't yet warded me out. My heart aches for a moment when I see him. He lies across the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling. My emotions are out of control, and I can't remember why I came here. "Why couldn't you just accept it?" I scream at him I don't know why I'm yelling, but it feels right. "We could have still been together, it's only a contract with her it would have been better than this Harry!" "Maybe for you" he replies quietly. "Maybe for you, Draco but it would be the same for me." My anger is squashed by the sadness in his voice. "Move." I say pushing his legs of the sofa he sits up, drawing his knees to chest in one corner of the sofa, as I slouch down in the other with a sigh. "Harry we'd still" I start "Draco we've had this fight. Yes, I'd see you more than I do now, we could even be friends again, but why so you can break my heart every night? So I can come have dinner with your wife, watch you start a family while I sit on the sidelines. No, what we do now hurts enough. If I had to feel this way every day, I wouldn't make it Draco. This way, this way I can forget you just for a little while. This way I have a chance of finding someone that loves me." He finishes I turn and stare at him for a long while. His messy hair and too green eyes, tears cling to his cheeks they mirror the ones on mine. "But I love you." Is all I can say

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I don't know why he came to my flat, to yell at me or to convince me to change my mind, or just because he has been drinking. If I was to be honest, when he walked in I was busy contemplating finishing off the bottle of whisky and chucking myself off the fire escape, with my luck of surviving situations of death though I'd probably just break every bone in my body and the profit would have a field day."The boy who lives survives again" Now he's just said he loves me, and it really doesn't seem like a bad idea at all. Instead I swig the bottle and pass it to him. "You drink too much" he informs me as he takes it and swigs himself. "I know" is my simple reply "Give me a cigarette" he says a few minutes later. I throw him my pack after taking one for myself."You don't smoke anymore" I tell him. "I know" he says lighting one. We stay this way for a long time lost in our own thoughts.

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We lay in his bed sharing soft kisses, promises, apologies and tears. I don't run in the morning, I stay. I'm happy for the first time in years, laying here with his breath ghosting across my chest. To hell with traditions, to hell with social standings, to hell with it all. This is all I need, this is where I belong, I just wish it hadn't taken me so long to figure that out.

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The papers are a flutter with news of the split. The speculations are ridiculous, we sit over breakfast laughing about what they've come up with, I'd forgotten what it's like to laugh. He thinks we should do an interview, though to save as much social standing as possible. I just roll my eyes, but if it's what he wants, I'll happily tell anyone he came back to me. In the end he picked me.


End file.
